Bubble

Bubble

It lasts longer than I expect, hovers
on my finger, almostBubblesPic non-existent,
too fragile even for breath. Peering
one way, I can see straight through
as though it weren’t there; another,
only swirling, rainbowed light,
my face convex in its teeny mirror,
its skin disappearing if I look at it
directly. Perhaps if I hadn’t exhaled—
another turn to keep it intact. I delight
in its brief life—in my grasp, yet not—
my ability to keep it from its fate as
blank as my bringing it back once it’s
burst, its beauty left to memory, muse.

 

 

razor iconBernadette McBride, author of three poetry collections (the third, Whatever Measure of Light forthcoming from Aldrich Press in 2016), is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, second-place winner of the International Ray Bradbury Writing Award, and was both a finalist and a runner-up for the Robert Fraser Poetry Prize. Her poems have appeared in the UK, in numerous U.S. journals, and on PRIs The Writer’s Almanac with Garrison Keillor. She served as a Pennsylvania Poet Laureate for Bucks County (2009), and is poetry co-editor for the Schuylkill Valley Journal.

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